


A Strange Way To Confess Your Love Includes Shouting It From The Second Floor

by dirtypenny (orphan_account)



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock - Fandom, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, johnlock hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:23:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/dirtypenny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock forgot the key and needs John to let him in, but both find that the snow has several consequences, including freezing the door shut. So Sherlock and John let some things off of each others’ chests that have been lingering there for too long, in which the neighbors might be forced to hear since they are shouting from the second floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Strange Way To Confess Your Love Includes Shouting It From The Second Floor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Akindheartedfeline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akindheartedfeline/gifts).



> Aloha! I actually edited this one, yay! I got really inspired at this idea and I’m not sure if it’s exactly as funny and heart gripping as I intended but I still like it. I REALLY enjoy writing Johnlock so please tell me what you think about the story! Thank you so much for reading!   
> *smoochie*
> 
> -Square One

Although John was satisfied that Sherlock was actually doing his own shopping, he woke up wondering two things: one, why at 2:00 AM? And two: where the fuck is he if it’s now 12:00. He shouldn’t be surprised though, this is a total ‘Sherlock’ thing.

 

You know what else is a total ‘Sherlock’ thing? Lazing about all day and getting no sleep at night or eating meals- in which John has been finding himself doing a lot more than comfortable. The aches and pains in his stomach linger on until morning and his head is so disorganized that forgot how to turn on the sink the other day. All he feels is this aching guilt within himself and the wish to go back in time. Sometimes he can barely talk because his tongue is glued to his suddenly claustrophobic tight mouth. It’s all he can think about, that stupid little buzzing bee in his brain that woke the rest of the hive and caused the swarm of thoughts and feelings; all because of that stupid little feeling.

 

_Love._

 

Unconditional, nonsensical, ingenious, little feeling of affection and now he’s a wreck. John Watson never thought himself to be gay, of course he had his experimental short phase when he was sixteen, but that quickly passed when he figured he wasn’t interested in the same gender. But here he goes, falling for an asexual loveless man and he’s completely lost any sense of confidence in his actions. (The other day he spent ten minutes debating if he should use a fork or a spoon for his rice and finally just picked each grain with his hands.)

 

Right when he decides that Sherlock has been gone far too long, a taxi cab pulls up. He peers out the window and watches Sherlock trudge through the immense amount of snow they received. On sight John feels a twinge in his stomach and his insides stop being so empathetic towards the doctor. He quickly looks away and busies himself with cleaning up the breakfast he barely scratched at.

 

But of course, he just doesn’t catch a break, does he?

 

There’s a loud thunk! on the window and the sound of someone shouting something. John turns around and returns to the window to find Sherlock looking up at him and yelling something. John hesitantly lifts the window, his stomach doing every single knot possible.

 

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” Sherlock yells up jokingly, and John can’t help but relive the twist in her gut for a second to throw his head back and laugh.Sherlock has a proud grin on his face, in which typically comes when he makes a joke. John smiles and calls down, “What do you want, Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock scratches the back of his head sheepishly and yells up, “I, uhm, I left the key in the flat when I left and I need you to open the door for me.” John lets out a little huff of exasperation.

 

_Git._

 

“I’ll be right down.” John yells and he shuts the window, rubbing his arms in irritation from the chilly air that leaked into the flat. John trudges down the stairs and to the door, slipping the sleeve of his jumper over his hand as he grabs the door knob so that cold brass can’t chill his very bones. He twists it and pushes.

 

And yet the door stays still.

 

John frowns and pushes again. And again. And again.

 

“It’s frozen!” John calls out to Sherlock. He hears muffled cursing and then Sherlock yells through the frozen wood. “You push and I’ll pull on the knob!” It doesn’t sound like a good idea to John, but he decides that it’s better than Sherlock’s flesh turning to ice out there. He can already hear Sherlock’s shivers in his voice.

 

“Okay!” John says, and twists the door knob again and slams his whole body against it. He hears a loud, “Ooof!” and the sound of someone falling to the ground.

 

“Sherlock?” He calls out desperately, worry poisoning his mind. There’s a few seconds of painful groaning and then Sherlock’s disoriented voice calls out, “I slipped on the ice, I’m fine.” The worry slips down the drain and the pain in John’s stomach comes running back. John almost groans aloud from the ache, but manages to maintain himself.

 

“How are we supposed to get you in?” John asks hopelessly, eyes roaming aimlessly about the hallway for inspiration, but his ingenious brain trips at every corner.

 

“H-Hairdryer?” Sherlock chatters questioningly. John nods to himself. “Guess I’ll go to your bathroom and find it.” He says, turning around and trudging back up to the flat. When he sorts through all the curlers in Sherlock’s bathroom he stumbles across the dryer. He hears Sherlock shouting again and struggles to open the window with one hand.

 

“What?” He calls down, annoyed thoughts coming to him when the chilly air bites his skin.

 

“Could y-you throw down some b-blankets or something?” He calls up, voice dripping in pitiful vulnerability. John’s heart defies the chilly air and melts at the sound of Sherlock’s weak little voice. His stomach lurches.

 

“Y-yeah.” He stutters, practically crippling from the pain in his gut. He grabs a few blankets from the couch and tosses them out, watching Sherlock catch them and eagerly wrap them around his scarcely protected body.

 

“J-John, I’ve thought through it a-and I’ve d-decided that judging by the t-temperature, a hairdryer i-is not going to u-unfreeze the door.” Sherlock stutters up, pale face peering up at John. John heaves a sigh and finds himself pushing himself up to sit on the window sill. “I just don’t know what to do.” John replies, puffing his cheeks out and staring into Sherlock’s distant green eyes.

 

Sherlocks looks about the abandoned snowy street in consideration for a few moments before looking back up at John. “John, i-is that because the stomach aches w-won’t leave you?” He asks smoothly. John isn’t even surprised, to be honest.

 

“They’re disorienting, yes, but if I look away from you they usually get better.” John replies, only later realizing that the words had slipping not so secretly from his lips. He tries to cover up quickly. “B-because, uhm, you alway-ys, uh…”

 

“I-It’s okay, John, I know that I worry you. I-I’ve noticed, I-I just can’t decide why. Is it because I left that rag so close to the burner one time? Because I always r-remember not to d-do that now, I try to s-stay safe.” Sherlock calls up, innocent look lain gently across his porcelain face.

 

John’s stomach now feels as if it’s being clawed from the inside out.

 

He winces and his hand quickly finds his stomach. “N-No, Sherlock, it’s not that.” He replies, distracted by the blades twisting about in his abdomen.

 

There’s a moment of quiet before Sherlock asks, “W-What are you upset about?” The rare kindness and care in his voice kills John inside.

 

“N-Nothing, Sherlock, you wouldn’t get it.” John attempts to push away the subject. “Are you getting any warmer with those blankets?”

 

Sherlock ignores him. “John, I-I know you think that s-sometimes you don’t c-consider me human, b-but I do have a-a heart, I-I’ve found that out.” He calls up, voice gentle and soft and… caring.

 

The last few words intrigue John’s mind and latches on. “H-How did you find out?” He calls down, furrowing his eyebrows and resting his eyes on Sherlock’s nervous face.

 

This apparently puts Sherlock off and he starts to ramble, “I-I’m sorry I woke y-you up to g-go get the patches, I-I didn’t actually get them a-and I-I’m sorry I lied and then t-took hours to g-get back home.”

 

Worry tickles irritatingly at John. “How’d you find out?” He repeats, staring at Sherlock intently.

 

Sherlock looks up at John wordlessly, mouth opening and closing like a waterless fish. “I…” He attempts. Then he changes the subject again. “You know I j-just sat in Angelo’s restaurant for hours-s. I c-couldn’t stop thinking and I-I never thought I’d-d be able to come home.” Sherlock’s hands fiddle nervously.

 

John doesn’t notice that his stomach suddenly settles.

 

“Sherlock, tell me how you found out.” He calls down once again, now more questioning than concerned.

 

Sherlock laughs nervously. “Y-You know, ever since I-I met you I haven’t r-really found that I’ve been hungry much. F-Food doesn’t make me happy.” He continues to ramble, now smiling sheepishly.

 

“Sherlock, what are you trying to say?” John calls down, confusion darting about his thoughts.

 

Sherlock makes a hopeless little gesture and looks up at John as if asking for help. “I-I really don’t k-know, John. I-I’m trying to s-say something and I-I can’t.” He stutters, looking around the soul-less snow.

 

John stares at Sherlock and suddenly finds his buzzing thoughts have settled and fallen asleep, as if telling John that it was his turn to take control now.

 

But John just couldn’t understand.

 

“There’s d-days when I break- I’m t-totally torn apart. The sadness forces itself down my-my throat and births tears th-that I may not be able to s-see, but they’re still there.” Sherlock blubbers, hands twisting furiously. “...A-And then you come and you just… hold me together. Y-Your words flow through me and slash at the sorrow inside, and then-” He pauses to chuckle nervously and John begins to wonder if the stuttering wasn’t so much from the cold as he thought. “And then when you make me laugh it’s all gooey a-and nice and it seeps into my skin and it acts l-like a glue to my broken up h-heart. A-And then of course comes y-your smile is bright as the sun, and i-it dries up the tears and g-glue and I’m w-whole again.”

 

John takes all of this silently, not exactly capable of processing anything. He blinks. He blinks again.

 

Sherlock looks at his feet and then back up at John.

 

“Fuck, uh, I mean…”

 

John continues to look at Sherlock, a splotch of black trenchcoat against the alarmingly white snow.

 

Feet. John.

 

“I-I don’t know if y-you’re understanding anything I’m s-saying,” Sherlock yells up, scratching at the back of his head. “I’m not sure if I came here to e-even say any of th-this, but I-I might as well finish.”

 

“I-I mean, I find myself repeating every single day to m-myself, ‘He’ll never love me, he’ll never love me, he’ll never love me,’ but still have t-this useless hope whenever you smile at me and-”

 

“Sherlock, I love you.”

 

Sherlock’s head snaps up and the dim in his eyes brighten a little bit. “I mean,.. wait, you do?” He asks in surprise, fiddling hands dropping to his sides and his eyes illuminating.

 

John feels an unexplainable happiness in his chest and stomach, and, fuck, his entire body feels light and jumpy. “‘Course I do, you idiot.” He calls down, a grin spreading across his face.

 

Sherlock stares up at him breathlessly for a few seconds before a giddy smile tugs from the corners of his lips. “I love you too.” Sherlock replies, eyes twinkling.

 

And John can’t help but throw back his head and laugh. His heart skips joyously in his chest and can’t help but feel this utter relief. His breaths are short and careless because breathing simply is not as important as Sherlock is right now.

 

“I just want to come down right now and kiss you.” John yells down in suggestive ease. The two men smile at each other and John begins to wonder if anyone in the street has been listening to their prominent conversation.

 

Sherlock shrugs and looks at the ground in consideration. “‘I can catch you.” He says confidently, a goofy smile sprawled. He puts his arms out suggestively. John laughs. “I can’t even believe you would offer that.” He says, shaking his head. “No way.”

 

“C’mon, I, Sherlock Holmes, just admitted my love for, you, John Watson, I think I can pull off catching you from a measly second floor.” Sherlock jokes, arms still out. “I’m surprised you got the window open anyway judging by the state of the door.”

 

John shrugs. “‘Had a cuppa ready for you on the window sill just sitting there for a while, must have thawed it. I guess it’s good that you took so long, yeah?”

 

Sherlock laughs at the mention of his hesitation. “And now I wonder why I even waited for so long, didn’t do your stomach much good, did it? C’mon, I’ll catch you, I’m not joking.”

 

John smirks and shakes his head. “Idiot.” He calls out at him before scootching himself off the window sill. The fall is quick (ironically) and he finds Sherlock’s promise was trustworthy. They both laugh nonsensically when Sherlock catches him.

 

“‘Glad you fell for me.” Sherlock jokes before setting John down.

 

_Corny little fuck._

 

“Oh, shut up and kiss me already.”

 

And so he does.

 

And the cold around them no longer exists.

  
  



End file.
